


Polo

by coeurastronaute



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23745118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coeurastronaute/pseuds/coeurastronaute
Summary: ok so, lexa is a polo player and clarke is one of those fancy girls who watch the game and clarke develops a crush on lexa when she sees her playing and then stuff happens.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 64
Kudos: 520





	1. Chapter 1

The drinks flowed for hours before the game even started. While the field occupied a large section of the estate, the tents and tables and mingling crowds of people in expensive dresses and hats swarmed around it all around the pitch. It was a sunny day with a handful of the magnificent, fluffy white clouds that took their time to get across the sky.

From her table, Clarke listened to the people around her talking and found herself utterly bored by the entirety of it. Not one thing was interesting to her. Not her mother droning on about some wedding a few weeks ago. Not her father talking business with a partner. Not her friends talking about their plans for the following day.

The sun sizzled and sang that summer song while the heat weighed down the day, and Clarke excused herself for a bit of air as the game started.

It was necessary for her, sometimes; to disappear from it all. These types of events were rarities, ones that she endured only long enough to make her father happy so that he didn’t cut her off. He was already more okay with her majoring in art history than her mother, and she liked spending time with him most of the time. He could appease him from time to time. He did pay for her school and bills and anything else she wanted. This was the trade, though deep down, she wagered he would never even hold it over her. She went so he didn’t have to ask.

On the pitch, the horses thundered by as she made her way toward the edge, watching the riders as they wove and nudged and raced around. Clarke paused there and sipped her drink, eager to take off her heels already.

Her parent’s divorce had been everywhere in the past two years. And that was hard enough. But what no one understood was just how difficult it was to see them sitting near each other at a table and hating each other from a distance. It was exhausting. Her world had been turned upside down, it shattered her worldview, and still, they pretended, sat there and avoided each other except for that show of friendship for the people to marvel at and appreciate their maturity. But their daughter knew the truth, and so she stood on the edge of the pitch and held her breath, hoping someone would score so she could scream.

But no one did, and she returned to the table to the quiet battle that remained and felt herself going absolutely insane, and the day had just begun.

It wasn’t that game wasn’t fun. It was always fun, always felt like a drug, with pure adrenaline and a high that didn’t last long enough and left her chasing the next one eagerly. Games were always enjoyable. Games of a certain caliber were damn near close to sex, in her own opinion.

But this game.

This game was not a game of true importance. It was a dull high. A weak release that had moments, but wasn’t enough of a challenge. It was a vanity game for the person who paid her. It was an exhibition in which the team owner participated to feel like their money was well spent. And Lexa found herself to be a dancing clown for more coppers.

“Well done,” she cheered as she passed off an easy goal for herself in favor of an assist.

The owner bought her a new pony. The owner let her travel and play and train and live, and for that, she sold her soul, played in pointless games where people sipped drinks and didn’t watch, and she gave away points to make sure he gave her spending money.

“Great block, great pass,” Kane circled back around after the whistle.

Three nodded politely and lined back up for the next round.

It was a normal game, the regular game that was routine. And before it, she showed off horses and charmed investors. After the game, she would shower and mingle after taking the time to check on her ponies. And she would be just as bored as she was in this very game. But she would have more money hopefully, and she would get to play in a cup next month. And this was how she sold more and more of her soul.

Thoughtlessly, or at least primarily very distracted, she went through the motions and was still better than everyone else on the field, even the other two or three players who were also at half-effort and selling their souls.

She sprinted down and tried to bump someone after the ball before a movement caught her eye and she jerked hard on the reins, losing part of the play. A stock of blonde bounced along the sideline, half cutting across the field on Lexa’s side having made it most of the way around. Not even a horse thundering toward her made the raging princess move, and the player yanked the reins before she felt herself tumble over her horse’s head and onto her back.

The familiar feeling of the wind being knocked out of her lungs made her grumble, and as she quickly got up, she looked toward the stranger that broke her stride, and noted that she didn’t even look back.

“Head over heels?” Kane teased as she tapped the dust off of her uniform.

With a scowl she climbed back on as play was whistled live once again.

The game wasn’t fun, she decided, back and shoulders aching, pride wounded. Not fun at all, and her soul was clearly on sale.

“You’re a pretty fellow,” she cooed at the nose that jutted out of the stall.

Far away from the tents and the hats and the people who all said one thing and meant another, the stables were quiet and a refuge. Worse than her anger at her parents, her anger at needing to be their show pony, worse than feeling so tired and overwhelmed, Clarke felt the sick kind of burn of being nothing more than a cliché. The girl with the parents who gave her whatever she wanted, who still asked for more and was unhappy. It was exhausting, and she was stuck in a game that would never let her out or let her win.

And so she rubbed the soft skin of the horse’s chin and she caught her breath.

The thing that she got good at, during these types of events, was always finding a moment to regroup. Ever since she would sneak out on the roof at the McMillan’s annual Christmas party, or down to the basement at the Company mixer, where she was expected to be polite and smile and be the pretty, picture-perfect family for her father’s firm, she had a knack for finding herself eventually.

In just a few minutes, she’d be gone, back to the party to fulfill her parent’s wishes. It wasn’t hard to do. It was just plain phoney. But she gave herself until the applause of the match. She could have that much time alone without raising suspicions.

The hands in the barn didn’t say anything to her, didn’t see her at all. She knew well enough it was because she was in that stupid dress her mother sent over, and they were afraid of her. She took it though. It helped with the illusion of complete anonymity and–

“You!”

Dumbly, she glanced around before looking toward the stomping and the bellowing voice, as if she could see someone else accepting that kind of accusation.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here after that stunt?”

The voice was angry and came from an angry player who tossed her helmet on the ground with her gloves as she tugged them off and glowered at the stranger to the stables. The uniform was muddy, and there was dirt on her cheekbones. Her eyes were pure fire as she started to tug at her uniform top from her pants, freeing the stiffness somewhat into an organized and planned chaos of after-game disrobing.

“Me?”

“Yes, you!” she spoke with her hands waving. “Walking across the pitch during a game? Of all of the– the–” the words that followed were in a different language as lips moved faster than human speed and hands waved emphatically.

All Clarke could do was watch the absolute hurricane of a person approach her landfall, and she didn’t even have a moment to brace for it. All at once, green eyes were closer, and a belt was tugged off to accent the words.

As frightened and indignant in equal measure as she found herself to be, Clarke couldn’t shake the feeling of being slightly turned on by the crazed girl with strong forearms and the pretty face and the sweaty thing. It was absolutely not appropriate, but there it was, and she didn’t know how to turn it off despite herself.

“And now you’re in here, with my ponies,” she scoffed. “Go on. Speak then. What is your problem?”

“Currently? Being yelled at in Spanish by a crazed, sweaty woman,” Clarke sassed, standing her ground as soon as she was given the chance. “What’s your problem?”

“Haven’t you heard? You don’t think I have enough of that to worry about, and now killing one? Do you have a death wish?”

The polo player pressed close and furrowed so deep, Clarke was certain her disapproval was etched permanently on the bone of her forehead. She stood taller as well until both were almost touching. There was a familiar air to the player. Clarke had seen her face before, or so she thought, that tiny hint of the known lingering just enough, hidden right beneath the anger and frustration.

“Do you have any manners at all? What did I do to you?”

“My manners might be missing because of an entitled princess putting me on my back because she thinks she can cut the pitch during a game!”

“If I wanted you on your back, you’d be there!”

Both with chests heaving they stared and glared and waged a war despite the blush that crept into Clarke’s cheeks at the suggestion and the proximity.

“Is that so?” the stranger cocked her head, a smirk hidden beneath the overwhelming anger. “Not on your life, ticket holder.”

“What, is that an insult?”

“Just don’t walk on the pitch. Okay? It’s not that hard. I know you think you can do whatever you want, but not out there,” she muttered, brushing past the partygoer.

Still stunned, Clarke wondered how her day had turned into this. She hadn’t cut the pitch, she was almost certain. But it was a blackout blur of the need to escape. She must have. She must have done something to be remembered by a player. A player that she knew but didn’t.

“Oh, is that it?” Clarke asked, wheeling around and stomping after the player. Woods was blazed across her shoulders. “Scream at someone, insult them, and walk away?”

“Yes,” she shrugged and turned toward the showers.

They approached a restricted area, but nothing was deterring Clarke from this battle. She had many to fight today, and this wasn’t one she could afford to lose, though she was certain she already has. She would take a pyrrhic victory if offered at that rate.

“I don’t know what you think you know about me, but you don’t know shit–”

The sight of a shirt being pulled off made her mind fail. How could it not. Two minutes after meeting a gorgeous girl, and she was suddenly near a shirtless hot girl. With the muscles. And the body. And the… just all of it.

“I have to shower and look nice so people like you will give me money so I can play,” she put her hands on her hips.

The mud streaked down the side of her neck and over her collar. There was a streak of bruises already forming on ribs and hip and Clarke looked, despite herself.

“Yeah, well me too,” she snapped, hands on hips, ready for another standoff like boxers before a bout.

Maybe she didn’t understand, and the confusion was evident on her face, but the polo player slacked slightly, the tension on her shoulders and face diminished just enough to notice. Maybe it was because she was amused, maybe it was because she was tired, but she searched the blonde’s face and nodded to herself.

“I’m going to shower now, so unless you’re going to take off that pretty dress–”

“You wish,” Clarke sneered, looking her up and down and silently begging her to make that wish. Make it. Just a little bit. Tempt away.

The smirk was still angry, still defiant, still there and infuriating. The polo player unbuttoned her pants before her hands moved for her sports bra and Clarke turned around immediately.

“Stay off the pitch during a game, princess!” she called as Clarke stomped out of the shower room.

“Be a better player!” she taunted before finding fresh air.

Back to where it started, just ten feet from the showers, Clarke stood stark still and evaluated what had just transpired, and for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what or how or even who she’d been before it. But here she was, in the now, and painfully aware that a specimen like that existed in the world and had a temper.

It wasn’t the worst fact to mull and distract herself with as she decided to seek out her parents once more for another round of earning her keep.

In under an hour, she was showered, cleaned, and put in a pretty dress for all to see, smile permanently affixed and brain decidedly shut off as she made the rounds and talked shop wit weekend players and observers who followed but couldn’t play.

Those were conversations she could have. She liked talking about the state of the league and the projections for the cups. She liked talking about projected ponies and trainings.

What she didn’t particularly enjoy was talking about how she modeled to pay the bills. About how she was on billboards and in magazines for perfumes and such, because it made her blush, and her father raised her to be modest.

He also raised her to be humble, but she was working on that part.

“We play in California in a few weeks, and then Kentucky,” Lexa explained to a few people.

“And my team is going to win. Hands down,” their benefactor regaled the group, raising his glass joyously.

Marcus Kane was richer than rich. He had money that was comparable more to a small country rather than another person. And it wasn’t that Lexa disliked him for it. In fact, she actually almost enjoyed him as a person. If he hadn’t spent twenty years of his life building an empire, he might have even been a professional player.

Lexa had been on teams with overbearing owners, and she was fortunate that her’s genuinely just enjoyed the game. It was a blessing, and one that she knew. Even he didn’t enjoy the pomp that came sometimes, but still, she didn’t let him know how uncomfortable it made her. 

“You gave us a run, that’s for sure,” the owner of another team nodded, offering the winners another round of drinks.

“A good play all-around,” Lexa politely agreed before excusing herself to mingle.

It wasn’t terrible. She was good at it, good at turning her head off and pretending. She loved the game, loved what she could be, and if this was just another part of it, then she was okay with that. She’d resigned herself to it.

The food wasn’t terrible. She liked the little sweet lemon cakes. They reminded her of home, and for an instant, the moment it hit her tongue, summertime.

She circled back around, carefully following the cakes back into the large country home that operated as the hosting house for the tournament. The garden party now covered the lawn, ebbed and flowed and moved through the expansive state. As the sun began to set, the party just got better, got bigger, got more elite.

Eventually, her teammates found her and formed a safe circle. It was what they did after all requirements had been met.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dismounted,” Lincoln teased.

“I did it to myself, so it doesn’t count,” Lexa countered.

“It sure as hell does.”

“Kill someone or hit the brakes,” she argued. “I think it’d look bad if I trampled someone.”

“Sure.”

Surrounding the small table and with celebratory drinks, the team devolved into discussing the game and the pretty wives that wanted to sleep with them. It was their normal talk, and they chattered while Lexa sipped her champagne.

For some reason she hadn’t thought about seeing the girl from the stables. Her temper had gotten the best of her, her rashness, her disregard for the old count to ten method. She blamed it on her mother and those genes and the adrenaline of competition.

And as caught of guard as the stranger had been, when she stood up and glared, Lexa felt a little intrigued, a little bad about the yelling until her body would ache and then she remembered she could have killed her.

But to see her in the party was another sight completely. She was the prettiest girl there, and she wouldn’t even bring it up to the table because they would try to debate it, and she knew the truth. Sullen and bored, the blonde princess looked like she was as miserable as anyone else.

“Lexa, I’ve been looking all over for you,” the familiar tug of Kane’s hand around her waist shook her awake again, and she lost her in the crowd.

“Just accepting a brutal thrashing from the team.”

“Not too sore from that?” he pressed as they navigated through the crowd.

“Not a bit,” she lied.

His personality was catching, his enthusiasm was overwhelming and she did like him as a person. Honest and good and a kind man, and though she had bouts of melancholy about selling her soul, she was happy.

“I want to introduce you to someone. I’m sure you’ve seen her at practice, but I haven’t been able to articulate my thoughts about it, or we’ve been very quiet. You know how these people are,” he shook his head, as if he weren’t part of the machine that kept lining his own pockets with the people who all did the same.

“Holding out on us?” she elbowed him slightly.

“Yes. I don’t want to hear what they have to say,” he chuckled.

“We’ll mock you later.”

Before he could give her a look, he paused and let go of her and reaching out for a brown-haired woman on the opposite side of the pitch.

While the lights all burned and created a galaxy, the night crept it and loosened the people, let them enjoy the skyline in the background and the feeling of being rich and well lubricated.

“Honey, I want to introduce you to one of the best players in the country. Hell, the world.”

The woman who turned around was beautiful, for her age. But Lexa knew the secret of love, and she looked to her boss as he smiled and looked adoringly at the woman, and she knew how important this woman was to him in an instant.

“I’ve heard so many stories,” she nodded politely. “Alejandra Woods?”

“Lexa is fine,” she smiled, toothy and wide as she shook a hand.

“This is Dr. Abby Griffin,” Kane smiled as he kissed her temple. “Genius and beautiful savior of people’s brains.”

“And cringer while watching the game. Thank goodness you wear helmets.”

“He’s got a hard head,” Lexa assured her, earning a laugh. “And he’s not half bad.”

“I was impressed,” she agreed, placing her hand on his chest as the meshed together.

To Lexa it was very honest and very cute. She loved love. She loved seeing love, and she loved seeing people she liked when they were in love. It was like sunshine and rain and all manner of goodness mixed together for her to steal.

“Lexa has been my favorite investment of all time,” Kane boasted proudly. “Fills my halls with cups and humors me enough to still teach me a few things.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“Well don’t overwhelm me with compliments,” he chuckled.

“That was a compliment.”

“I like her,” the doctor nodded, amused and enjoying the polo player. “I have a daughter about your age running around here. And an ex husband who might not like you on principle, so I apologize in advance.”

“Who doesn’t have a few of those, right?” Lexa tried.

“Actually, I think I see her. Clarke?” Kane called while Abby asked Lexa something about her family back home.

“You were in those ads, weren’t you? You model sometimes?”

“I do. It helps pay the bills.”

She was everything Lexa would imagine Kane would like in a woman. Articulate and polite, just distrustful enough to be prudent but also that fake kind of warm while she sized someone up. It didn’t hurt that she was beautiful, for a woman of her accomplishments and age.

“And this is my daughter,” Abby smiled as Kane waved her over. “I apologize in advance for her. She just found out about Marcus and myself.”

“Clarke, I’m glad you’re still here. I want you to meet my star,” Kane referenced Lexa yet again. “Lexa, this is Clarke Griffin.”

And that was why the cutting the pitch happened. And that was why she was angry. Lexa recognized her yet again. The girl in the purple dress with the blue eyes and the anger.

“We’ve met,” she pursed her lips.

“Glad to see you’ve managed to avoid the pitch,” Lexa taunted, satisfied with her dig.

“That was you?” Kane put it all together.

“I didn’t realize. But I just found out that you’re fucking my mother and couldn’t get away quick enough.”

The entire conversation died down before Kane ran his hand along his beard and looked at the doctor. Lexa shifted her gaze from the girl to the distance in hopes of melting away, in hopes of having someone rescue her.

“If you’ll excuse me, I see some alcohol with my name on it.”

With that, she was gone as quickly as she came, and Lexa was left oddly intrigued by another clichéd problem of people who gave her money.

The best option was to leave. Clarke knew it, and yet, she couldn’t pass up the drinks that existed, nor could she leave without her best friend who was currently networking for her tech startup, and thus, she let her devotion overrun her urge to flee at all costs.

That was how she met Kane in a new way, as her mother’s boyfriend. That was how she saw her father’s face fall and grow tight until he excused himself and busied his night with the rest of his firm, drinking and smoking cigars and playing cards in some parlor tent. That was how she had not one, but two awkward encounters with a hot polo player. That was her night, and there was no escaping it.

So she elected to ride it out.

“Perhaps we should properly introduce ourselves,” a newly familiar accent slid across her shoulders and made her gulp.

From her spot at the fence, she surveyed the pitch and the dancing and the band and all gaiety of the tournament’s final night.

“I don’t know. I like our rapport,” she finally turned to see the player.

“It seems our paths may cross often at this rate. You should know my name.”

“I don’t think they will.”

“Your new papa is my boss,” Lexa offered, leaning against the bar near the fence. “I’m sure you’ll be around from time to time. And I should also maybe apologize for my temper.”

“You should.”

“Clarke, it was?” she asked, innocent and awfully cute for someone Clarke knew to have a wrathful kind of anger when provoked.

“Yes.”

“Lexa Woods,” she extended her hand and waited. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

Clarke didn’t look at her when she dropped her hand, just drank and stared out at her mother laughing in a crowd. For her entire life, she’d watched her mother fake it, and for some reason, this looked real. She dusted Kane’s jacket and she smiled when he whispered in her ear, and Clarke wanted to be happy, she truly did, but she was not that big of a person yet. She needed time.

Unbeknownst to her, the player beside her searched her profile and smiled into her drink before helping herself to another lemon cake. When she was satisfied with figuring out how gorgeous the blonde was, Lexa followed her sights to the newly outed couple.

“My mother said she’d been in love with him since the first time she saw him back in college, before she even knew my father.”

“That is a good story,” Lexa nodded to herself.

“Time and life and pride kept them apart, she said. But everything is finally lining up.”

“Felicidades.”

“I don’t know how people fall in love at first sight,” Clarke sighed and watched her mother dance her with her new boyfriend. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“I agree,” the polo player murmured as she sipped from her glass. “I need at least one conversation.”

That was what it took for Clarke to finally look at Lexa, who was not the same person who yelled in the showers, who was someone who seemed at peace and relaxed. It was infuriating that it was so catching.

“Just one?”

“If it’s stimulating enough. Lust and love are linked.”

“But not interchangeable.”

“But necessary in good measure.”

They debated and grew closer without meaning to until Lexa pulled away to signal for a water, and another for her new friend and patron.

“You would rather have lust, wouldn’t you?” Clarke accused as she caught her breath and waited “The quick and easy and simple thing that it is. Love a bit too complex for someone who hits a ball around with a stick while riding a horse?”

“That might be the third time you’ve insulted my intelligence in the very short time I’ve known you.”

“You missed the other two?”

There it was. She earned a laugh and smile, not a smirk, a pure smile. And it changed the set of the players face, it changed the slope of her cheeks. It wasn’t the worst to look at, for the most part.

“You are so very wrong about me, princesa,” Lexa shook her head and nodded a thanks for the drinks. “You dismiss lust as if it were something bad.”

“Not bad, just not enough. Not a good foundation. Lust passes quickly. It’s a shot, taken back and felt for a second. Leaves a bad hangover.”

“I think a good love is possible to be passionate. It’s necessary, actually,” she insisted. “A good conversation will stimulate passion and lust. That’s easy. A great conversation is when I will fall in love.”

“You seem to have strong opinions on it.”

“I do. We all should have opinions about love. It is inevitable.”

“But you don’t believe in love at first sight?” Lexa asked again.

“I don’t even believe in love at first conversation,” Clarke decided, turning away from the couple on the dancefloor again.

She stared at the polo player in the pretty dress, with the pretty face and the pretty muscles and the pretty smile and challenged her once again.

“Well, then when do you believe in love, hermosa?”

The battle raged once again, a quieter, toned down version of their match in the stables, though the stakes felt just as high, just as different and just as necessary. Clarke couldn’t help it, though she wanted to very much look away. She watched Lexa take a sip from her glass.

“I don’t know if I do,” she confessed.

“You don’t believe in love at all? You’ve never felt it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t believe in stimulating conversation?” Lexa tried.

“I don’t believe you can meet someone and know that you are deeply, madly, mythically in love with them. Not in a look, not in a conversation, not in a lustful night.”

“How long will it take for me to get you to fall in love with me?”

Clarke thought about the question as she sized her up politely. She had been drinking all day, but she wasn’t drunk. She’d learned from a young age to pace herself. Lexa didn’t appear drunk, and she didn’t even seem too bothered by the question, though it was hard to determine if that was just because she lived at two extremes, either a fiery temper or a cool peacefulness were her only settings, or because she just like taking the piss when she was drinking.

But Clarke thought about it as she looked at the beautiful face and the smile that made her head spin.

“I don’t even lust you.”

“So a while?”

“A while,” she nodded. “You were just yelling at me earlier.”

“Passion is passion. Love and hate are so close.”

“And how long would it take you to fall in love with me?”

She watched the grin spread as the player suddenly turned bashful and looked at her watch before back at her.

“Whenever this conversation ends.”

Many disappeared from the party. Many left and bled into the night, following the veins back to the heart of the city after a well-spent day doing absolutely nothing but eating and drinking at someone else’s expense.

Lexa was still there though, long after her normal curfew she imposed on herself because she still could not figure out if a certain beautiful blonde hated her or was intrigued, and the only true way to celebrate a win was with a beautiful woman. Everyone knew that.

There was no end in sight to the conversation though, and it had been a joke, but now she wasn’t so sure she wasn’t falling in love with the idiot who walked across the pitch and laid her out on her back.

“I guess I just like real people. Sometimes these people don’t seem real. Sometimes a lot of people don’t seem real,” Clarke explained as they strolled through the stables.

“And that is why you left?”

“And the divorce was messy. They didn’t notice me quietly disappearing.”

“You’re the same as me then,” Lexa nodded as she paused at a stall and ran a hand along a nose that poked out at her.

“How so?”

“My father isn’t rich, but he taught me to play with ponies he took care of for a richer man,” she explained as she ran her hand along forehead and earned a nudge. “And he said he sold his soul to play. That was the price. Kane buys me horses, he buys our uniforms and he pays us to work here, train him. The only reason I get to play is because he says I can. If I wasn’t as good as I am, he’d drop me.”

“He seems to like you.”

“He likes winning.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Gently, Clarke held out her hand and felt the lips searching for sugar before they snorted in her palm at the absence of a treat. She relegated herself to watching Lexa push away hair and kiss the patch of white on the black horse’s forehead.

“But you’re the same. You come to these things because your father pays your rent, and your mother pays for school.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not so bad, if you don’t think about it,” Lexa grinned. “But sometimes I think about it too much. Especially on days like today.”

She wasn’t accustomed to so many words coming out, but she said them and she knew that Clarke understood. So she looked at her in the dim light of the stable and watched her watch back.

“I don’t know which you I like,” Clarke pondered. “The thoughtful, kind one now, or the angry, half-naked one from earlier.”

“I get that a lot.”

There was a quiet now, between them. And there was the woozy kind of blur to the night, where the memories were tinged on all sides, all laden with alcohol and commiseration.

“Did you fall in love with me?”

The question came with a bit lipped and a shift in bodies. It came beneath eye lashes and in, Lexa’s opinion, the most sultry gaze anyone could muster. And she as damn sure that Clarke knew it, too.

“Is this the end of our conversation?”

“It might be.”

“Then I might have,” she decided, stepping a little closer to the daughter of the people who stomped her divots.

It was bold, but she was known to be. She placed her hands on Clarke’s hips and pressed her against the door to the office.

“Do you do this often?”

“Never.”

“Me neither,” Clarke swallowed as Lexa hovered close.

“Do you want this?”

Lexa waited for a response and only got a kiss. Her hands gripped hips tighter as she caught up and felt tongue. Her own hips pinned the relative stranger against the door. That was all of the response she needed as she opened the door and they slammed against the inside.

“I can certainly call it lust,” Clarke decided as she was lifted to a desk and the door was kicked shut.

Just like that, the hall where the horses were was quiet again as they disappeared to the dark office. She tugged the player closer again and wrapped her legs around her thighs. Things were digging into her back. A stapler fell to the ground with a cup of pencils.

“You think too much about things that do not matter.”

“What matters?” Clarke challenged, her nails scraping along back.

“You, me, poetry, horses, wine, and sunshine,” Lexa recited, dragging her lips over neck as she spoke, earning arching back.

Lexa stood between Clarke’s legs as she laid on the desk. She ran her hand down her chest, over her stomach and back up again toward her neck where she held her jaw. There were many things her hands could do, and this was one of them.

“Are you going to fuck me or write me a poem?” she taunted.

“Can’t I do both?”

“Have you been planning this since earlier?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I hated you this afternoon.”

“And now?”

“Now, I’m indifferent.”

Clarke chuckled and pulled her closer, catching onto the dry humor that seemed to emanate from the polo player. She bit her lip and she moaned into her mouth as she ground against her.

“Te pareces al mundo en tu actitud de entrega,” Lexa whispered as her hand slid beneath the dress.

“Oh God,” Clarke moaned, clinging to her shoulders, breathing hot against her ear.

Lexa wanted to slide lower. She wanted to pull down the dress and kiss everywhere, to do it properly, to do it well. But she had those noises and she wanted more of them or else she was certain she would die.

“Pero si cada día, cada hora, sientes que a mí estás destinada con dulzura implacable, si cada día sube una flor a tus labios a buscarme,” Lexa whispered as she fucked the beautiful girl on the desk. “Ay amor mío, ay mía, en mí todo ese fuego se repite.”

“Fuck. I’m–”

She didn’t stop. She whispered poems to her and she earned arching back and a long moan followed by a body that relaxed into itself and jolted as she moved her fingers. Still, Clarke clenched around her, and still, Lexa enjoyed it.

“You can admit that you love me now,” Lexa smirked.

“Shut up.”

“While you’re collecting your thoughts and your panties,” she decided as she began to straighten herself up a bit. “I should tell you that I studied for my degree in literature while playing for my school’s team. I have degrees. I’m not a brute.”

“Show off.”

“For that, I am keeping these then,” she teased, waving lacy black fabric around her finger.

“You earned them.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jacob Samuel Hayward Griffin VI was a man born of a certain status in life, evident by the fact that five other men had been named the exact same thing, and amassed a considerable amount of prosperity that only people with four names can. He was educated at Andover and naturally followed in his father’s, uncle’s, grandfather’s, cousins’, and basically every Griffins’ footsteps since the colonies, and went to Yale.

It was at Yale that he was supposed to find a nice girl, one of a reputable family name who went to the proper schools and who had the proper notions in her head about her future, perhaps one studying something like Literature, or Art History, or perhaps even Sociology, and he was supposed to marry said nice girl. Of course, he was not the most conventional in his family in some regards, so it was almost a relief when he came home with Abigail Catherine de Younge, a nice girl in name alone. With her ambitions for her own career, it was still a match that left both families hopeful.

And for a long time, it was just fine.

As with accordance with family practice, Jake graduated and started at the company his great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather founded back in England, before America was even pillaged. The former greats had all molded it into something larger, better, and so eclipsing that it defied all logic when anyone attempted to describe its wealth and power.

Jacob Samuel Hayward Griffin Vi was a powerful man, and the name and the man himself carried it well.

And as Jake worked, Abby did as well, and yet still, the moved forth with the wedding, like all knew they must. They got pregnant, like all knew they must. They had a beautiful girl, like all knew they would, and life was perfect for the Griffins.

And yet they had no more children, and their lovely little girl grew up with, unfortunately, a strong mind of her own, which was, if they had really thought about it, their genetic fault.

By the time the divorce went through, there were numerous rumors as to the cause: an affair– he was sleeping with the secretary, or she with a friend’s husband, or better yet, one was gay, and the other a beard, or the best of all, one had an addiction that was too much for the other to handle. But the truth of it was, and Clarke Abigail Hayward de Younge Griffin knew it best of all, the two simply fell out of love, which was, in her own opinion, perhaps the most painful thing to watch happen.

It didn’t stop her father though. He was still powerful, still jetting around the world, still doting on her erroneously, still supporting whatever she wanted from life, resolving himself to give the company to whatever man she chose to marry or perhaps with the son his inevitable second wife would have.

Clarke love her father because he was never dismissive of her, and though some would call him a spoiler, he was actually simply a father, most of the time. They went to dinner a few nights a week, they met for drinks, they went to museums and got coffee in the park and took family trips. He was always the person she went to for problems or ideas or worries, and for the most part, she thought she knew him.

But the divorce did something to him, in a very tiny way.

Though, perhaps, the most important thing about Jacob Griffin remained that he didn’t have time for things like ponies and polo.

“What kind of grown man does this?” he rolled his eyes and paused on a piece of mail. “I’d love to be a point guard for the Celtics, but you don’t see me buying the team and making them start me.”

“You’ve thought about it though, haven’t you?” Clarke asked, sipping her orange juice as she perused a magazine.

“Even I don’t have the ego for that. Though it appears someone does. Do you want to take a trip whatever weekend this is? Good excuse not to go.”

In the morning light of the penthouse dining room, Clarke saw the twinkle in her father’s blue eyes as he smiled conspiratorially. They often had lots of plans to get out of things, something Jake bred into his daughter young– a nice distrust of all people and society.

“We could go to the Key West house,” his daughter thought it over for a second. “Let me take a look first and see how mad Mom will be if I bail.”

“That’s a fair measurement,” he wagered, passing it over and diving into his breakfast.

It wasn’t often that Clarke made it up for breakfast, though she was trying more and more after thinking of her lonely father working away with no one to come home to anymore. It meant schlepping across the city, much too early, something he mercilessly mocked her for, seeing as no Griffin had lived outside of Manhattan in well over never.

The note was a formality, that despite Marcus Kane’s relative newness to money, reeked of her mother’s doing. Clarke surveyed it for dates and whatever it was he was actually doing, and then she smiled to herself and made a hasty decision.

“I think that’s her birthday weekend,” Clarke offered. “Or is her’s on the fifteenth? I get her’s and Gram’s confused.”

“Your mother’s is the eighth, so the week before.”

“I should probably make an appearance.”

It was a lie. Clarke didn’t have to go. In fact, her mother probably wouldn’t be there, as she was going to a conference. But her father didn’t have access to that calendar on his phone anymore, and so he wouldn’t know that a polo match was interesting for other reasons. Reasons that made Clarke almost okay with braving a Marcus Kane party.

“I think I’m going to sit this one out, Kiddo,” her father made a small face. “I don’t know if I can stomach it again so soon.”

“The last match was two months ago.”

“Time really flies.”

“I’ll be fine,” Clarke shrugged. “The weather was nice last time. And Raven always begs me to take her to more things anyway.”

Her father paused, pancakes suspended in air as he watched his daughter flip the invitation over and read something else. Sometimes she looked so much like Abby that it was astounding. Sometimes, if he squinted, he could pretend that he saw some of himself.

“I’m really proud of you, Clarke. I know this has been rough on you, and I’m just very impressed with you taking the initiative to endure more time with him for your mother. It shows some real growth,” Jake grinned, gazing adoringly at his daughter and the surprise that she often was to him.

It sucked, in all honesty.

Clarke just smiled and looked away nervously, because there was surely no way she could take such kind and undeserved praise when in reality, she was going because of the amazing, earth-shattering, stable-burning, leg-liquefying, foreign-language, polo-playing, hot-as-fuck sex.

“We’ll go down to the Key West house at the end of the month for a weekend, what do you say?” he asked as he popped open the paper. “You’ll be done with another year of throwing my money away on liberal arts degree, and I’ll be single and ready to mingle.”

“Too soon, Dad.”

“The liberal arts degree?” he grinned, not looking at her.

“You said you liked my art.”

“I actually do, and that’s saying a lot.”

“That’s the actual review I want printed on my first show’s write up,” Clarke shook her head and relaxed into her chair as she popped a grape into her mouth.

She looked at the invitation for another polo match once again and felt a flood of memories come back to her. She would have to traverse the absolute tedium that was one of those parties, and yet it wasn’t the worst payment she’d make to see Lexa again, which was a whole new problem.

She was going to see her mother’s boyfriend as an act of goodwill, Clarke lied once more, hoping that her father’s words could actually make her a better person.

That wasn’t the truth though, and she knew it.

The key to it was, she just didn’t care. The sex was that good.

Exactly ten weeks after being laid flat on her back in the dirt during a match, Lexa returned to her home pitch and felt oddly weird about being there and remembering what happened in the stables. There was a pair of lacy black panties in a drawer in her apartment that were not her own and lots of memories.

“Tranquilo, mi amor,” Lexa cooed, patting her ponies neck as the open house continued and people filed through to meet and learn the game.

When Marcus Kane told her that practice would be interrupted for a charity match, Lexa groaned and clenched her jaw but agreed. There really wasn’t any saying no to someone like Kane, and despite her need to train for the important matches coming in the spring and summer, she didn’t say anything, but rather paraded herself around.

It wasn’t bad. She got to practice for the day in a game, and she did get to show her ponies off to some kids, which was oddly satisfying in some kind of way.

Despite herself, she did look for a certain face in the crowd, nonchalantly and afraid to ask Kane anything about Clarke. For some reason, she just suspected that the help sleeping with the boss’ girlfriend’s daughter, might not go over that well.

But after talking to the heiress of, what she later discovered, was basically a Scrooge McDuck-sized vault of money, Lexa almost realized it made more sense to not expect her. There was no way she was willingly at the last one, and there was no way she’d be at another until she was required. Kane didn’t require it, hell, he barely knew Clarke, and her mother knew not to push, or at least Lexa hoped.

Still, as everyone cleared out and she prepared for her match, she felt a little sullen at the realization that she wouldn’t see Clarke again.

She rubbed the horse down and started to fit her saddle, something she’d always taken to doing.

“You didn’t look for me?”

It was accusatory and still, it made Lexa smile. She finished what she was doing and patted the horse’s side as he snaked and shook his mane. The turn was very slow, but the smile was deliberate.

“I didn’t have to.”

“Why?” Clarke asked, coking her head slightly.

This was going to be a problem, the polo player decided, taking in all of the heiress. The dress was not as fancy as the last time, though it was possibly worse, in some way, because it hung on her body like it was made to exist just for her, pale green and exceedingly simple. The dress was the kind that was made to be removed carefully by someone who was absolutely reverent, someone who had nothing but good intentions.

“Because I am in love,” Lexa stated so matter-of-factly Clarke almost believed it. Had it not come with the smirk, she might have. “And I knew you’d find me.”

“You lust me,” Clarke corrected, setting her clutch on a ledge as she approached.

“Call it what you want, and I will call it what I want.”

“You can’t possibly believe that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t know me.”

“You’re a smart, funny, slightly angry, but also insanely gorgeous woman, Clarke,” Lexa explained. “I’d be an idiot not to be in love with that.”

“You’re the one that yelled at me.”

Around them, the teams and hands prepared for the match as the announcer started to warm up the crowd. There were to be a few speeches for the charity and the emptying of pockets, but still, their time was very limited.

“And you yelled right back. It was oddly endearing.”

“So long as I know what does it for you,” Clarke teased, smirking slightly. Lexa gulped and steadied herself against her pony. “So I trust that my panties are safe with you.”

“Always,” she promised. “I didn’t expect to see you here, ever again, actually.”

To her credit, Clarke shrugged and Lexa believed it was actual indifference, though sie didn’t address anything else on the subject.

“I heard that you played well when you were travelling. And also saw your ads.”

“Did I not mention that I model for Piaget watches?” Lexa grinned, watching as Clarke rubbed the horses chin and cheek.

“You did not. But I actually saw your Polo billboard,” Clarke teased. “And, you know, the one where you’re half naked in nothing but your Calvins.”

“Right, that one. I forgot. I’m sure that was difficult for you.”

During their pause, a hand came into the stable and reminded Lexa that the meeting before the match was going to happen in about five minutes. She thanked him and Clarke hid slightly. There in the stall, they were awkward, as if they hadn’t had sex in an office about twenty feet away the first time they met.

“I am sorry for last time,” Lexa finally whispered, wiping her hands against her pants and staring at her palms intently.

“What are you sorry for?”

“If I had known we’d only had one go, I might have done things differently.”

“I think it was fine.”

“A girl like you deserves hours,” Lexa shook her head, disagreeing. “I would have done things better. I would have tried to savor and memorize everything. Now I think I forget moments. I chase the sounds you make. I forget how your neck tastes. I can’t remember the order of it.”

They were quiet and Clarke shifted closer, and then Lexa shifted closer, as if they were fighting the pull of the earth’s magnets and each other, but failing right off.

“A girl like me?”

“You know exactly who you are.”

The yell came from the stable hallway for players to report to the pitch and Lexa looked at Clarke’s lips before knowing exactly what she had to do. Clarke was taken off guard, but it didn’t matter, because she melted into Lexa’s hands a minute later. The polo player did the only thing she could, and she pushed the heiress against the wall and kissed her senseless. She kissed her until time stopped and they froze the entire universe to that moment. And in it, they were at the center of everything.

Greedy and high on the pre-match jitters, Lexa held Clarke’s neck and hip, she hoped her mouth and she hissed her with everything her breath could contain. What started at just a pipe dream quickly moved past. Lexa knew Clarke would kiss her. She wasn’t sure how she knew it, just that no one gave out those eyes without wanting to be kissed.

What she never counted on was Clarke pushing back against her, or her hitching her leg up slightly around her waist, or her hands clawing at her, wrapping arms around her neck. Those were things for which Lexa wasn’t particularly prepared.

“I knew I would see you again,” Lexa shook her head, whispering slightly as she gazed, half-lidded, at the smudge of Clarke’s lipstick. Her thumb ran along it, leaving Clarke dazed still. “I just did not realize I would see you again, if that makes sense.”

“I was bound to show up again.”

“Yes, you were,” she grinned and kissed the corner of Clarke’s mouth, the edge of her jaw, sucked on her neck and nipped below her ear, still pressing against her, still holding her just as tight as she was holding back.

“You have a match to play.”

“Will you watch me?”

Hands tugged at the base of her hair and Clarke tilted her head back at its insistence, allowing for her to be swallowed and touched heavier, if that was possible.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to walk across the pitch again?”

“Do I have your full attention?” Clarke countered.

“You, in that dress, has my full attention. You in the same room as me has my entire occupation. You have my entire being, Clarke.”

“One orgasm doesn’t mean I’m in love with you.”

“How many then?” she smirked and slid her hand beneath the dress finally.

Clarke gulped. Actually, physically, literally gulped. Her hips pushed forward as Lexa ran her fingers against the lace that awaited, already in an altered state since they found themselves so intimately situated.

“Lust.”

“You’ll see,” Lexa finally pulled away. “Watch me play and see if you have not fallen in love with me.”

A second later, Lexa was away from her and Clarke remained leaning against the stall door. She watched Lexa straighten her top, retucking it into her pants. It was infuriating, and also exactly what she wanted, more than anything. Lexa made herself presentable and heard them calling her name outside. She unhooked her pony and smiled at the state in which she’d left the heiress to the entire universe.

“Find me after,” Clarke said, refusing to move.

“You are not in love with me and yet you are still demanding of me.”

“We have more to debate.”

“I look forward to it, princesa.”

By the time Clarke unrooted herself from the wall of the stable, by the time she fixed her dress, make up, and hair, by the time she emerged back into the May afternoon, the match was starting. It took that long to regain herself after her interaction with Lexa for just five minutes. She assumed anything longer would kill her.

She didn’t believe in the love and the kind of storybook things that Lexa did, but she did believe in lust, and she had a pretty severe case of it.

She wasn’t sure how she managed to be standing on the edge of the pitch, but she did. She zeroed in on a certain number three. The only reason she knew that it was Lexa because she fixated on the number as she walked out of the stable. There was a look that came after, over her shoulder as well, and Clarke had plans.

The horses thundered about while the ground seemed to shake under the weight of it. There was nudging and hitting and it happened far across the field, and Clarke could barely find the ball, let alone keep track of what was happening.

For some reason the whistles blew and they stopped playing for a few minutes, going back to their separate sides to racateous applause. The sidelines were too difficult to see, so Clarke made her way, very casually, very quietly, hoping to go without much notice, up onto the observation and waited for it to start again, or something. It definitely seemed like it was longer last time.

But it did start again, and Clarke smiled as she watched Lexa smack the ball. There was a kind of power behind her, a certain passion, even in how she moved and yelled and directed and smiled– she even fucking smiled when she was bumped someone and took a ball.

“Do you understand what is happening out there?”

“Other than people on horses with hammers hitting a ball, no,” she sighed.

Marcus handed over a glass of champagne and leaned against the railing beside his girlfriend’s daughter who very much hated him. But he loved Abby enough to try as much as it took. He figured champagne was a good start.

“I didn’t expect you to come.”

“Dad was away on business,” Clarke swifty lied as she’d been trained to do. “Couldn’t miss it, so I’m here in his place.”

It was a lie on multiple levels, and so she sipped the drink.

“We just started the second chukka. There’s about a handful of them in a game. Think of them like periods,” Marcus explained, imagining that it was the safest route to take. “Obviously there are four players. And their numbers are important. Each one gets ranked, from negative two up to ten, ten being the absolute best. You won’t see many tens.”

“What’s Lexa?” Clarke asked, earning a look. “She’s the only one I know.”

“Lexa is a nine. She’ll be a ten before the year is over. In comparison. I’m a five.”

“That’s not bad.”

“Thank you. But it’s like having a high school kid play alongside Lebron James. It’s definitely noticeable.”

“Is that why you aren’t playing today?”

“She humors me. The whole team does,” he grinned at watched, craning his neck to follow the action. “And I love playing, but sometimes watching professionals just changes everything for me. It’s beautiful.”

It was only then that Clarke took her eyes from the game and looked at Kane. His beard was trimmed better than before, and he was dressed smartly, a grey pullover unzipped and hiding a nicer shirt beneath. He was the one who paid a lot of money to look like he didn’t pay a lot of money. But Clarke could understand her mother’s admiration. He had a strong jaw, strong nose, and his dark eyes and strong brow always made him look thoughtful.

“What drew you to it?”

“I’ve loved riding since I was a boy. And my grandfather took me to the cheap seats of a match when I was a kid. I missed my chance, but now I get to do it to relax. Plus I have all of this space,” he shrugged. “I wish I loved something else. Something that would make me money, but this is it. This is my hobby.”

The whistle blew before Clarke could follow up and she watched as they readjusted for a penalty, or so she thought.

“What just happened?”

“There was a penalty,” Kane explained, setting down his glass to speak with his hands. “See, the ball forms this thing called the line of the ball. It’s like an imaginary line.This line determines which way you can approach or play the ball.”

“So there’s more than just whacking a ball around with a long stick?” Clarke nodded, finally understanding why things looked so easy and people weren’t doing them, like charging at it from all directions.

“Slightly more, yes,” he smiled.

For about ten minutes, well into the next period thing, Clarke asked questions and had Marcus explaining things to her. Her mother wasn’t there. She didn’t have to be nice to him, or even speak to him. She told her father she was doing something else, and she lied to everyone just to be felt up in a stable that smelled like… well, a stable. But still, she stood there and spoke with Marcus about the game, and she didn’t mind it.

Just as she was making an observation about something she thought she understood, and just as Marcus was grinning and nodding, hanging on her words as she showed her brilliance, they watched a player get nudged from her horse.

Quickly, Clarke tilted her neck to try to get a view of whoever it was, almost glad that it was so close to where they were. Badly dusted and very dirty, Lexa stood up, clearly yelling as she did. Finger out and wagging at whoever must have hit her and circled the area, she grew more animated, and Clarke smiled at the fierce spirit that existed within that girl. A girl like that was a livewire. A girl like that felt everything, all of the time. And it was so very, very different from the numb, detached life Clarke was accustomed to living.

“I have a million dollars tied up in that girl, and she can’t stay on a horse to save her life,” Kane groaned and shook his head. “If she wasn’t going to be the greatest in the world, I swear I’d send her on her way.”

The words made Clarke ache at the very idea of it. She wasn’t sure where those feelings were coming from, but she certainly didn’t like them.

In a move, Lexa pulled the guy from the horse and yelled at him. He yelled back, both a bit dirtier than they were a few moments ago. And at the heat of it, the part when Clarke was oddly enough, the most turned on, something she would want to revisit in therapy next week, Lexa began laughing before hugging the guy on the other team.

“Is she really going to be the best?”

“I think that’s her cousin,” Kane smiled at the scene that was now presented, glad it wasn’t an actual fight.

“You’d really get rid of her?”

“No,” he rubbed her palm along his cheek and stood a bit taller as he watched them all mount up again. “She’s passionate. And she is going to be the best. I kind of just like her as a person, too. I’ve had three teams before, and none I’ve been happier with. She’s going to be an Olympian and a champion.”

“Sounds like you really do admire her.”

“If only I could get her to stay on a horse. I think I’d have more success with you not cutting the pitch though.”

“One time,” she shrugged and went back to watching.

“You’re quick, like your mother. It’s a good quality to have.”

“Did you already tell her that I made an appearance?”

“I couldn’t help it,” he sighed, looking around for more booze. “I was very surprised.”

“I behaved poorly last time. It’s not your fault,” Clarke realized, somehow releasing a lot of anger she didn’t mean to hold. She watched Lexa line up and whack the ball across the field as everyone charged after it. “I just really–”

“Clarke, you had a family your entire life, and then things changed, and I showed up. It makes sense that I was the easiest target.”

“I kind of like polo.”

It was a non-sequitur and it was all she could manage, but Clarke hoped he would pick up on it soon enough. Grateful for the break in talking about feelings, Kane agreed and sipped his newest drink before looking out at his team.

“If you really do, I can recommend some books,” he offered. “But if you’re just being polite, I’ll take that too.”

Clarke watched Lexa score a goal, the happiness shining across her face as she wiped at some sweat on her forehead.

“No, I actually think it’s beautiful, now that I see it and someone’s explained it.”

“At least we have this to make conversation about,” Marcus offered, holding out his drink.

“I can live with it,” Clarke agreed, clinking hers against his.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun was glaring; absolutely murdering the entirety of the world in the noontime shine of a clear day in the early spring. The heat couldn’t come just yet, still not allowed due to larger forces like the tilt of the planet and the distinct absence of a certain player, yet to be seen despite a not-so-covert glance at the pitch during warm ups. The entire event was going to be the largest of its kind, and it was like the world knew it, opening itself up and shining all of the kindest wishes on the sport, as a large herd of watchers made their way to find a place to watch. 

The tents were stocked with alcohol and snacks, people in hats and those who were there because they were supposed to be. But along the pitch, bleachers filled up with anyone who wanted to watch, creating an atmosphere of joy and excitement that’d been lacking at the private matches. 

There really wasn’t a reason to be there. Clarke had more than fulfilled her daughterly duty for the entire year with her increasingly frequent showings at events for both of her parents. She chalked it up to growth, and becoming a better person, to make an effort, to try her best to show her mother that she was happy for her, and to prove to her father that she was deserving of her name, even if that meant trudging through society things in lieu of his wife. 

But seeing as Kane’s opening of the Gauntlet of Polo opening day party was not her mother’s, nor was it something she felt compelled to do to represent her father, Clarke had no true reason to go other than because Kane was nice enough to invite her, and she truly had nothing else to do. 

“So where’s the hot polo playing Argentinian underwear model who recites you poetry and fucks you in stables?” 

Clarke grit her teeth before sighing and shaking her head, giving her best friend a look that should equal death, if she’d been luckier. 

“What?” Raven shrugged. “I want to get a good look at the girl that convinced you to be okay with your parents divorce. I’m sure there are over-paid therapists who would kill to know how to do it.” 

“She didn’t–”

“And made you nicer in general to your parents. And me. And your life is less chaotic now– I’ve noticed you are volunteering. That must be some of the worlds most powerful puss–”

“Kane! Mom!” Clarke interrupted her friend’s tangent, thankfulness apparent in her voice as she found the host and hostess. 

Her mother was always beautiful, but Clarke began to see how much nicer happiness looked on her, and as much as she claimed to always love her father, there was a girlish spark that came when Abby was near Marcus. It took Clarke long enough to put aside her feelings to see it, but when she did, she couldn’t have been happier, despite the occasional bitterness about what was lost. It was Lexa’s stupid notions of love that messed with her brain and her ability to hold a grudge. 

There’d been a truce between herself and Kane, reached gently and treated very cautiously, but still, it remained. She had dinner with them just a week ago when they were in the city, and it wasn’t entirely painful. As much as she wanted to dislike Marcus Kane, she couldn’t bring herself to do it because he was just… nice. And he made Abby smile in a way that Clarke didn’t realize she hadn’t seen in a while. 

The real benefit of all of this love and joy being that while Abby got to live her best truth, it meant less comments about Clarke’s “wasted potential,” and there was a bigger focus on her art, which led to less stress with their average communications. 

“Oh, honey you made it,” Abby smiled and hugged her daughter, kissing her cheek quickly, squeezing her shoulders. “I didn’t think we’d find you in all this.” 

“Believe it or not,” Clarke explained as she accepted a quick hug from her mother’s boyfriend. “It’s easy to find the guy who owns a team in a tournament sponsored by his company.” 

“I’ve been looking and couldn’t find you.” 

“I took Raven to see the ponies.” 

“Look at that,” Kane grinned. “She’s using proper jargon already.” 

“Clarke’s given me a quick rundown, but I don’t know if I trust her expertise yet,” Raven offered after all pleasantries were exchanged. “Care to teach me, Kane?” 

“The more the merrier,” he smiled wider, like a kid in a candy store, surrounded by people who wanted to listen to him explain his favorite sport. “We better go find a good spot. It’ll start soon.” 

Raven turned and gave Clarke a wry grin before linking her arm with Kane’s as she maneuvered them through the crowd. Clarke let her mother squeeze her and follow along a few steps behind. 

“It means a lot that you’ve tried to take an interest in something that Marcus finds important,” Abby offered as they meandered along. 

“Just a good reason to be outside, and Raven loves selling rich people her programs and things,” Clarke dismissed her effort for anything benevolent as she grabbed a flute of champagne gratefully. “I’m fairly certain that’s the only reason she keeps me around.” 

“Whatever the reason. It means a lot to me. I know it wasn’t easy to find out–”

“We don’t have to do this.” 

“I know,” Abby relented. “You just never cease to amaze me is all. Marcus is important to me, and you’ve taken the time to get to know him, just like I’m sure you would when your father starts–”

“Dad won’t date anyone else.” 

The words came out a little bit too harsh, and Clarke wasn’t sure why she felt so protective of her father’s refusal to get over a broken heart. 

“He will eventually, and believe it or not, no matter how he feels about Marcus and even me right now, seeing you be open to our happiness will make it easier.” 

“I guess I’m just a saint.” 

It was meant to be a joke, but Clarke felt suddenly a little guilty. They took their seats beside Kane and Raven, and Clarke looked out on the pitch, wondering if she would be there at all if it hadn’t been for the oddest addiction she somehow developed for a stupid girl who argued with her every time she saw her. 

She might not even get to see Lexa today. She might only see her on the pitch. And would that be a waste? Should she think about this perfect stranger as often as she did and look forward to this stupid even for the past three weeks? Was she proving Lexa’s points right about lust and love and soulmates? Did she believe in something like soulmates? How could she? And what did it matter. Wasn’t this a lot to do just for sex? Very, very, very good sex, but still–

“You’re not zoning out already, are you, Clarke?” Kane smiled and waved his hand in front of her face, bringing her back to reality. 

“Just listening, making sure I remember everything.” 

Raven gave her a look. 

“Now tell me about your team. Clarke was telling me all about how skilled the one… what was her name?” 

“Lexa,” Kane offered excitedly, before Clarke could bring herself to utter the name. “She is incredibly skilled. I’ve never seen someone ride with such passion. She is so fluid, covering everything, seeing plays before they happen. And she’s got this passion in her blood for the sport. She hits hard, and takes a licking– Are you okay?” 

Only when Kane stopped talking did Clarke realize she’d spilled her glass, letting it tilt back toward her chest as she remembered exactly how passionate and fluid and licking that Lexa had been. The cool liquid froze her chest, dripping down her front as she hurried to pat it dry. 

“Fine, fine. I wasn’t paying attention.” 

“Off in another world,” he offered politely. 

“This girl has her head in the stables,” Raven joked, though only Clarke understood it. “I get now why Clarke’s so passionate about those ponies. You are a hell of a salesman, Kane.” 

“This is something that costs me money. Imagine what I can do with something I want to make money off of.” 

They shared a laugh and Clarke joined in, only half paying attention as the team was announced and she caught the now familiar jerseys making their way to the center for the start of the match. 

There was an air to the polo player, helmet on, stoic and sitting tall as she stood beside her fellow teammates, her horse still as she was. Lexa listened politely to the anthem, she listened to the announcer, but she didn’t move more than necessary. It was by a stroke of luck that she found Clarke in the crowd, though Clarke wouldn’t agree anything was lucky about it, because now she had to sit in the stands after getting the full weight of Lexa’s glance. Only slightly did Clarke notice the pull of one corner of Lexa’s mouth and the fire behind her eyes. It made her gulp. 

Lexa didn’t look away the entire time and neither did Clarke. She didn’t have to say anything. They both knew. 

XXXXXXXXXX

It was an actual match, and a hard fought one to begin the Gauntlet that would last the next few months, and Lexa ached in the most delicious kind of ways after the win. Over the next week she’d have to win five more to hoist the first cup, collect the first purse, and move onward in hopes of completing the perfect Gauntlet, winning all three cups, and collecting the bonus purse that would triple her yearly income. 

No pressure at all when trying to impress a girl who was set to inherit billions. With a B. 

Showered and cleaned up, Lexa made it to the crowds in time to catch part of the second match. The sun was dimming, fading into the trees, giving a bit of a sunset despite the lights that shined over the pitch. It was a perfect evening for polo, and Lexa felt it, still riding the high of her win and feeling the limitless possibility of the next few months. 

It didn’t hurt that she caught a certain girl’s eyes before it started and put on a show. No, Lexa didn’t think about that at all. 

There was absolutely no way she had a chance with someone like Clarke, prize purse be damned. Lexa was the person who got a taste– who was used for the pleasure of someone who had other responsibilities. In all of her dealings with people like Kane, with people like Clarke, she knew she was an interloper; destined to be a tagalong, someone who was never quite part of their world. Those were the things that she thought about after that momentary rush of seeing Clarke– an intense loss at never having her completely. 

She didn’t look for Clarke in the tent with the other donors because she could feel her. It would take her a moment to get back to being okay with being a plaything. It had its perks, and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, to be someone who only got a taste when that taste was delicious. Lexa was okay with the being just a fling, if only her heart would listen and not get in over its head. 

“You, in that dress,” Lexa whispered as she approached a bare back, the navy blue of the dress, dipping along spine, hanging on shoulders. “Has all of my attention.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Lexa half-smiled and grabbed a flute of champagne, handing it to the woman beside her before taking one for herself. Only then did she allow herself to look at Clarke, meeting blue eyes and lips she desperately wanted to kiss already, after exactly one second of being within her orbit. 

“It’s becoming a problem, princess. You look too distracting in everything.” 

“Maybe you should stop looking?” 

“Would you like me to stop?” 

With her words, Lexa shifted closer, and Clarke felt it. Their bodies moved around, hovering and refusing to touch though desperately wanting to feel the next. Clarke licked her lips and looked up from beneath her lashes while Lexa looked over her cheekbones as she took a sip and played with the stem of her glass. 

“It’s been three weeks. You didn’t try to find me?” 

“I’ve been busy training,” Lexa tried, unsure of if she was supposed to find Clarke. She never knew it was an option. “And I didn’t… Three weeks, and were you preparing for a Gauntlet?” 

“You were the one that was trying to convince me to fall in love with you.” 

“Or lust.” 

“Right, or lust,” Clarke nodded. “I couldn’t find you. That’d just prove you right.” 

“And we wouldn’t want me to be right, would we?” 

Despite herself, Clarke smiled, small and there. She blushed a little, right beneath her jaw, near her earlobes. Lexa gorged herself on it. 

“If you’re right, you get all of the power. I can’t give you that.” 

“But it would be great if you did. I promise to be a benevolent overlord.” 

“What if I don’t know how to be kept?” Clarke asked after a moment of quiet. It was the most honest thing she’d said in their time together. 

Lexa reached forward to touch her, finally. She ran her finger along her forearm, and she paused at Clarke’s wrist, running her thumb along the small protrusion there. She watched her fingers move against Clarke’s skin. 

“I’m good at being still. I’ve broken more wild things than you, princess.” 

As she stood there, Clarke felt Lexa’s warmth, and she wondered to which level they were speaking, because almost accidentally, she’d confessed one of her truly darkest fears, that she wasn’t one to be in love, that she didn’t know how, that she wasn’t sure she was worth being looked at like Lexa looked at her, whether it be love or lust of something between. 

“I completely mean to interrupt whatever is happening over here,” a voice rang out, oddly cheerful and not at all in line with the tone established. 

Lexa retracted her hand quickly, finishing the rest of her champagne as a result of compensating for the movement. Clarke stood up, her body language becoming alert and afraid. There was the shame, Lexa saw and pretended to ignore, of being caught with someone like her. 

“Hell of a game you played out there, Lexa,” the new woman explained as she grabbed them another round of drinks from a passing tray. 

The crowd cheered for whatever was happening on the pitch, and Lexa looked toward it in hopes of finding a reason to escape, the trance of Clarke Griffin broken for a moment. 

“And I heard all about how amazing your play was from Kane. Clarke couldn’t keep her eyes off of you, and I have to say, I get it now.” 

Lexa found her interest turning back to this shorter, nonplussed member of their group, her interest piqued as she recognized a fellow interloper, although someone who seemed to own it much better and in a way she almost envied. 

“I wasn’t–” Clarke began before taking a breath, earning a grin from her friend. “Lexa, this is Raven, my best friend dating back from elementary school, so please don’t hold it against me.” 

“I couldn’t. She seems to have such great taste if polo players,” Lexa grinned, extending her hand. “Lexa Woods. It’s a pleasure to meet you–”

“Raven,” she offered, shaking it heartily. “I’ve heard many things.” 

“All good, I hope.” 

“Mythical, some might say.” 

Clarke coughed and cleared her throat until her friend returned the hand it’d been shaking and went back to sipping her champagne. Lexa felt her chest puff a bit, and she couldn’t help it. 

“I should go make the rounds,” she finally offered as the two ancient friends glared at each other, having an entire conversation. “I’m sure Kane has some constructive criticism, and plans for the next matches. I hope I see you both around, and thank you for coming to support us.” 

“It was nice to see you again,” Clarke offered with a slight nod. 

Brazenly, Lexa leaned forward, placed her hand on the small of Clarke’s back so that her thumb could touch the bare skin of her spine. She kissed her cheek. 

“I hope you choose to find me, princess,” she whispered. “I love wild things as they are.” 

Lexa pulled away quickly and shook Raven’s hand again. 

“It was nice to meet you, Raven. I hope Kane didn’t bore you terribly.” 

“Not at all,” she returned. “I hope to come to more, if Clarke will invite me.” 

But Clarke didn’t answer, just stared at Lexa until she nodded and walked away, fading into the crowd in search of her benefactor. 

“Holy shit she’s hot up close,” Raven finally offered after a moment where Clarke downed her champagne. “Like. Insanely hot. Superhuman hot. And when she did that thing, that being so close to you but not touching you thing. Damn. And then, I think she practically was undressing you with her eyes when I walked up. I’ve never seen eyeballs look like murder, but hers were coming for me.” 

“You see what mean, right?” 

“Yeah, you have a problem there,” her friend agreed as Clarke finally took a breath and nodded weakly. “I’d have to go for it.” 

“Yes. Without a doubt.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

Even though there was an entire week of matches for the tournament, Lexa still waited for a girl to appear, to make the move, to find her. She knew that it had to be Clarke who appeared, who made the move because she was the one who was most afraid. It was supposed to be a joke, but Lexa knew it was the most honest thing about her to admit that she was already in love with the stranger. 

She knew nothing about Clarke, not really, and yet she felt like she understood her on a cosmic level, an inherent kind of language they both spoke, that defied time. Lexa craved that poetry, and perhaps it was the works of the great romantics that she kept reading and clouding her brain with such notions, but she couldn’t help it. It seeped into her very DNA. 

The week led to the first win out of three for the Gauntlet, and Lexa hoisted the cup valiantly, happy that she was worth her weight in gold, as Kane liked to explain. And after all of it, after they made the trip home, and she made sure the stables were taken care of and schedule made for the following day, Lexa sat on the porch to her small home about five miles from the horses, and she opened a bottle of beer. 

The night was colder than the day, giving off the heat and letting the warmth disappear with the sun, but it was a clear night, the moon bright above, casting moonbeam shadows in the tall grasses and from the fence posts. She could have lived in the city, gotten a place an enjoyed the splendor of her generous paychecks, but Lexa had a need to be near her ponies and to be close to the games. She wouldn’t commute if she didn’t have to, and she wouldn’t allow herself any distractions. 

And then headlights appeared in her driveway, following the gravel up toward the converted cabin. 

She stood and tapped her beer against her thigh as she leaned against the railing, squinting into the light in hopes of figuring out who was going to bug her after a rather long week and an impressive win. 

She wasn’t in a dress. She was in an old jacket and jeans as she shoved her hands in the back pockets and made her way around the car once it turned off. It really was becoming a problem, because every time Lexa saw her, she was distracted. She really didn’t think about the car and how many questions she had about the absolutely devastating piece of machinery. 

Instead, she took another sip and smiled. 

“Congratulations,” Clarke offered. 

“Did you watch?” 

“I didn’t, but I heard.” 

“Good news travels fast.” 

Despite her initial burst of courage, Clarke paused near the stairs, looking up at the polo player, the lights from the glowing windows giving her a little bit of color. Lexa didn’t move to fix the height gap between them, instead, waiting for Clarke to make the moves. It was her porch, but it was Clarke’s rules, and she wasn’t sure she’d trained wilder things than Clarke Griffin, but she was a tamer of beasts. 

“I found you,” Clarke offered, as she took a step. 

“You did. I’m not hard to find though.” 

“I think we should applaud the effort,” Clarke grinned, stepping up another until she was just one below. “I was impressed with your win. You must be happy.” 

“I’m honestly happier that you’re here right now than the trophy.” 

“Are you going to show me your home?” 

“I don’t want to move,” Lexa offered as Clarke stood in front of her now. “I’m afraid you’ll bolt the moment I do.” 

“I showed up. I made the move,” Clarke sighed, looking at her lips. “You have to teach me the rest.” 

“Three conversations for you to fall in love with me,” she grinned, closing the distance and moving so she was touching Clarke, pressed against her front. “I can work with that.” 

“Lust.” 

“For now.”


	4. Chapter 4

They’d never spent any time alone, together. They’d had cavalier flirting and obnoxiously hot sex a few times in very inappropriate places. They had weird talks about their honest selves between hiding and making light of their insecurities. But they’d never been alone and together for an extended amount of time. 

A dazed kind of wakefulness settled on the bones of the two in the bed. Stuck between wanting to sleep and wanting to fight it, just as the moon outside was hanging in the sky, clawing its way back to the top of its arc, though failing against the heavy weight of gravity and orbits and ancient things. The stars were waning as the sky lightened slowly. 

And while all of that happened as it did every night, Lexa went about the very tough job of breaking in a wild thing. It wouldn’t be done swiftly, and if she were honest with herself, she knew that there was never a way to conquer someone like Clarke, no matter what her fears truly were on the subject– no, a wild thing like Clarke Griffin’s heart would not be kept, but Lexa was certain she could show her that she meant it about love and lust. 

There was something different this time, and she knew it. Though she was never one to shy away from a girl that caught her eye, and though she would consider herself fairly competent in the art of lust and affection, Lexa knew that an heiress showing up on her doorstep was different than any time before. To her it was as well. 

In the dim light of the hallway filtering into the bedroom, Lexa watched as her fingertips moved along the expanse of Clarke’s shoulder blades. She dipped her head only to kiss the dimple of her lower back before moving lower and pretending to bite, earning a chuckle. When Clarke rolled over, Lexa laid her head against her thigh and felt Clarke rin her fingers along her knee. She smelled Clarke, on her sheets, on her hands, on her body, and she didn’t care. It was perfect. 

“You have knobby knees. Like a giraffe.” 

“My mom used to say I was worse than a newborn foal,” Lexa smiled and closed her eyes. “All legs and no sense.” 

Clarke smiled at the story and held it. Lexa moved before she could ask something else, shifting so that she straddled her. Hands moved up her stomach and over her breast until they anchored beside her head, and Lexa slowly leaned down and kissed her, cradling her head between her forearms and moving to her jaw and her chin and her neck. It was slow and deliberate and Clarke softened, melting under such purposeful adoration. 

“Another?’ 

Clarke bit her lip and nodded. But Lexa waited until Clarke opened her eyes and met her own, waited until she nodded again, waited until Clarke’s hands were against her cheeks. There was an intensity to Lexa’s eyes that existed almost every time Clarke looked at her. She wasn’t sure how someone could hold so much and not burst. 

Methodically, Lexa went to work tattooing poems and promises to Clarke’s skin, her lips tracing lines and letters there. It was slow building, it was lazy and done clinging together tightly with mouths breathing against necks and biting shoulders. Clarke came with a shudder beneath Lexa’s body pressing her into the bed. 

And Lexa did not move after. She tried to catch her breath and kissed Clarke’s cheek. When she tried to move, Clarke just hugged her tighter. 

“Have you made up for the first time yet?” 

“I thought you liked the first time,” Lexa lifted slightly. 

“You said it wasn’t enough. Have you gotten enough?” 

“Honestly?” 

“Please.” 

“No. Have you fallen for me yet?” 

“Honestly?” Clarke asked with a bit of a smile on her lips. 

“Por favor.” 

“I don’t know.” 

Clarke lifted her head as Lexa adjusted, laying on her completely. Hair covered her neck and shoulders, but she didn’t move. She was afraid of her answer because she wasn’t sure what it meant, and she wasn’t sure it was enough. 

“Say something, and say it in Spanish to make me feel better.” 

That was more than perfect for Lexa because if she said the things she wanted to say in a language that Clarke would understand, she’d spook her. So she soothed her and said in her native tongue all of the things she hoped were true, and all of the things that made her afraid. 

“Quédate conmigo, princesa.” 

“Okay. Now so I understand.” 

“I think that you being here is good, and I think you weren’t joking when you said you didn’t know how to stay. I’m just happy, and I want to be very easy.” 

“What made you…. I don’t know… you said you fell for me in one conversation. How?” 

Lexa smiled and sighed as hands moved along her back. She liked that Clarke was always touching her, always feeling her, keeping her close. Clarke’s words said something and her hands another. 

“It was easy. I just… saw your butt.” Lexa earned a pinch and laughed. “You were a good conversation. A challenge, but also intrigued. You were smart and funny. I can’t explain it. Don’t you believe in magic?” 

“Not really.” 

The crickets were singing outside in the heat. The night wasn’t ending, and neither cared. They’d go again soon enough. What started as needy and impatient, pressed against the wall by the stairs, a trail of clothes on the bannister and in the hall, pinballing down toward the bedroom, moved to affirming and sensual, quiet and earnest, skillful and purposeful. 

“How long have you lived here?” 

“Just over a year.” 

Clarke surveyed the near empty bedroom in the old gamekeepers cabin, refurbished and all, but lacking any sort of personal touches. 

“You kept it kind of sparse, huh?” 

Lexa lifted herself up and looked around at what Clarke saw before flopping back down and shrugging. 

“I’m not here that often.” 

“You could still have a plant or something. Maybe a picture on the wall.” 

“I’m not used to having girls in my room.” Clarke snorted and rolled her eyes at the answer. “It’s true. I don’t know who you think I am… “

“You fucked me the first day you met me.”

“Yes, but not in my room.” 

“What was it you called me, when we first met?” 

“You mean when you nearly broke my neck?” Lexa retorted, kissing Clarke’s shoulder, running her thumb along her sternum. 

“Yeah, then,” Clarke smiled to herself. 

“Ticket holder,” Lexa explained. “I may have let my dislike of other princesses before you cloud my judgement of who you really are.” 

“And what does that mean?” 

“You know what it means,” Lexa sighed, though Clarke didn’t make it easier. “The whole crowd that looks at me like… like… I’ve grown up around people who are painfully aware of what I did not have. And you had all of the air of someone who knew that I wasn’t from the same world.” 

“Do I… do I give off that feeling?” 

“No. I was just angry.”

“Because I unhorsed you.” 

“Yes,” Lexa chuckled and watched her fingertips move along Clarke’s cheek, toying with the dimple that appeared. “We don’t have to keep talking about it.” 

“Does it bother you that my father has money and I’m just a stupid heiress?” 

“I wouldn’t say you’re stupid.”

“Lexa.” 

“I think it makes me wonder if I’ll be enough. I’ve been…. Kept, I guess is not quite the right word. I’ve been bought? That’s not much better. I’ve been– I’ve made a fairly decent career catering to people of your station.” 

“Oh God, Lex, I’m not paying you for sex.” 

“I’m not a hooker! I’ve just been… I’ve been the pretty girl from outside the local pool of families, an act of rebellion for some… This isn’t coming out right.”

Despite the corner Lexa painted herself into, Clarke scooted closer. She kissed her and pressed her hand against Lexa’s neck, running her thumb along her jaw and into her hair, holding her there. 

“I have my own money. I have my own career. I’m not that insecure and self-conscious person anymore. Don’t hold my promiscuous ways against me.” 

“How promiscuous are we talking?” 

“Fairly.” 

“Yuck,” Clarke groaned and rolled back, flopping down, disinterested in hearing about it anymore, and oddly intrigued. She wasn’t accustomed to such honesty or awareness from another person. She was certain maybe she, herself, didn’t have enough of it. 

“You won’t mind being seen with me?” 

“A big dumb jock who squats on Marcus Kane’s property?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Lexa nodded and rolled over Clarke’s hips. 

“Ugh, a girl employed by my mother’s boyfriend?” 

“Sí, soy yo.” 

“A very frustrating and persistent model who memorizes poems and believes in love?” 

“Yeah well…” 

“I’m willing to have a few more conversations and see if you stick.” 

“How gracious,” Lexa smiled and kissed Clarke’s neck before being pushed onto her own back. 

A pretty girl with sex-mussed hair slid atop her and Lexa leaned back into her pillows and let it happen. The thing with wild things and the taming of such, was that they rarely need broken, but rather just the opportunity to feel free.

XXXXXXXXXX

“Two days!” 

Clarke looked up from her desk in the corner of her loft and sighed, tossing her pencil down on the notebook she’d been jotting a few ideas in for her internship. She should have expected to hear from Raven, and she should have expected it to be dramatic, but she was truly hoping for a few extra hours to catch up on what she should have been preparing for all weekend when she was otherwise occupied. 

“You were gone for two days and I worried sick.” 

“My phone died and I didn’t have a charger.” 

“Last time you did this, you were drunk on a beach somewhere. I was ready to start scouring Turks and Caicos.”

With a flourish, Raven sat down on the couch, flopped there, really, crossed her legs and arms and waited impatiently for the explanation. 

“You know where I was,” Clarke shook her head and sipped her tea, wrapping her fingers around the mug. 

“Yes, but I want to hear about it. How did it go?” 

“It went…” she searched for a word. “It went great. We, um, talked and then went to get breakfast at one of those little diners on the bay. She showed me around the stables, introduced me to her ponies. I made dinner, and I stayed another night… and then the next day we just kind of hung out at her place. She had to go to practice and I read and soaked up some sun. You know… just normal– why are you looking at me like that?” 

“So you went over there and awkwardly confessed that you’re an actual failure when it comes to committing and are afraid of her hurting you, you had sex until breakfast, then hooked up in front of her horses, ate sandwiches or something, then had sex the rest of the time?” 

“I mean… No?” Clarke shook her head and drank her tea. 

“What did I get wrong?” 

“It wasn’t… in front of her horses. And I made pasta.”

“OH! How could I have not guessed that,” Raven shook her head and rolled her eyes. “How did the actual talking go?” 

“Good. Too good, maybe. It’s ridiculous to fall for someone in like under 50 hour, right?” 

“I don’t know. Probably not? Maybe a little?”

“That’s fair,” Clarke nodded. 

“Do you like spending time with her?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Then just do more of that.” 

“It’s never that easy, is it?” 

“Maybe it can be.” 

“I think you’re either my mom or my dad. Both are in love, both are in pain, and I don’t know how to decide which is worse.”

Raven thought about it for a moment before she set on her mission to help Clarke feel a little less afraid and a lot more excited to be boning a beautiful polo-playing model. 

“The sex is good. Everything else should be easy.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

For some reason, Lexa was mildly nervous to be standing in front of Clarke’s door. She gave herself exactly thirty seconds to commit to the potential destruction. That was all there was to do sometimes, just saddle up, mount the horse, hope to god you could hang on for long enough and when you fell, that it didn’t hurt too badly. 

“You brought me flowers?” 

“I did,” Lexa smiled and handed them over. “You said you like poppies. I thought you might need some desperately.” 

“You’re very right. I’m tragically without. Come in.” 

Victorious and fresh from her internal bravery pep talk, Lexa earned a kiss on her cheek and followed Clarke into her loft. She looked around at the pile of clothes on the bed and the desk full of books and paper and notebooks lit by the warm light. The windows showed the city outside, lit up and waiting for the night to crash, busy and alive. There was an exposed wall of brick, and on it, a painted white square that had a burst of colors on it. Taped on the windows by the desk were friends and vacations. Plants hung from the tall ceiling, leaves cascading down the curtains and along the rod. 

“I like your place,” Lexa offered, putting her hands in her pockets as she looked around. She looked back toward the girl filling a vase. 

“Were you expecting something different?” 

“I wasn’t expecting anything.” 

“Dad has the penthouse. I asked for something close to school and work.” 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“Please ignore the mess. I did not think you were going to come up.” 

“I aim to be punctual and pleasing to pretty girls who promise me dinner,” she bowed slightly and grinned, earning a smile back from the named pretty girl. 

“Do you think…” Clarke paused her fluttering with the flowers and looked up, putting her hands on the counters. “Are you going to come back here after? Or like… go home? That’s a long trip. But I don’t know what you have planned– or if it’d be–”

“I don’t have to be back until lunch for practice tomorrow. I can be persuaded to stay.” 

“I’m going to stop being weird, I promise. I’m just trying to figure out… I do better with plans.” 

“Let me show you a good time tonight. See if you want to keep me around.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

“You do look very cute tonight. Pretty and beautiful, too.” 

Clarke moved around the kitchen island and let Lexa put her hands on her hips while she put them on her shoulders. She kissed Lexa’s smiling lips and smiled against them because it was contagious. ‘

“Keep sweet talking me, Woods. I’m a sucker for your voice.” 

“Dinner?” 

“Yes please.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

The restaurant was busy on a friday night, but the two found themselves tucked into a corner at a small table, sharing a few plates of everything that Lexa ordered, conversing joyfully with the waiter, speaking in Spanish while Clarke sipped her wine and became incredibly turned on with the entire show of it– how Lexa stood and hugged the waiter, evidently familiar enough to know a lot of the staff, how she pointed at a few things and he jotted it down, while she went back and forth between Clarke and the menu. 

“Do you like the wine?” 

“It’s really good. Thanks for bringing me here.” 

“When I first moved here, I would get a little homesick. I met Sebastian at some fundraiser where I was spokesperson for a watch. He was catering and said he was going to open an Argentinian restaurant. I invested by the end of the night.” 

“This is your restaurant?” 

“No, it’s Sebastian’s,” she smiled and took another sip of the wine. “But when I get a little homesick–”

“Or want to show off to a date.” 

“Or that,” she relented. “I come here. I am not as good of a cook, or I’d do it myself. But Sebastian will make up for it.” 

“It’s a nice place,” Clarke offered as she looked around. “And you get super excited when you get to talk about things you like. Kind of into it.” 

Clarke earned a laugh before Lexa drowned it with another taste of her wine. She was glowing in the candlelight, and gave Clarke a look over the lip of her glass. 

“Did you get caught back up with your papers? Someone kept you very busy this weekend. Next time you should bring your work.” 

“I hadn’t planned on staying.” 

“You should have known I wasn’t about to let you go.” 

“I don’t like to count my chickens.” 

“Always count me,” Lexa promised. 

The waiter reappeared with a few more plates, swapping out the old ones. Lexa took her time telling Clarke what everything was, and what was the best. Of course, everything was the best, and Clarke couldn’t believe it. 

“I still have a few finishing touches to put on my work, but I should be ready for class on Tuesday.” 

“I won’t overstay my welcome then.” 

“You have to practice. I heard something about a championship polo match,” Clarke reminded her between bites. 

“Are you… are you going to come watch?” 

“The Trifecta, right?” she continued, ignoring Lexa’s nervous question to tease her a little bit more. “If you win this round, you complete all three. Something that hasn’t been done in like seventy-five years?” 

“So you do listen when I talk about work.” 

“I did tell Kane I would come visit. He seems to think the only thing we can talk about is polo, now that I’m the biggest fan.” 

“He’s not a terrible person.” 

“I actually find myself not hating him,” Clarke confessed, moaning slightly as she enjoyed a bite. “As much as I’d like to.” 

“You’re too hard on them,” Lexa warned. “You told me they were in love, and I think they are. Practically as much as us.” 

“I don’t know if that’s saying much,” she disagreed. 

Across the table, Lexa chuckled and adjusted her napkin in her lap before signaling for more wine to be added to their cups. She was testing the waters, and enjoyed spurring Clarke on, nearly as much as Clarke enjoyed being riled. 

“Was your parent’s divorce the worst thing that ever happened to you?” she asked, quite seriously. 

“I think so.” 

“And yet it had nothing to do with you.”

“Except break my family apart.” 

“Two people realized they were not truly happy. You have to look at it like a blessing. Any opportunity to find happiness should be welcomed.” 

“My dad’s not happy. How can I believe in love when the two people who I always thought were perfect for each other, decide they aren’t? Or better yet, when one decides she’s not? How do you trust something so fickle? And if they weren’t ever in love, was I fooled the entire time? Will I know what it looks like?” 

“For two people who are not in love, we seem to talk about it often.” 

“It confounds me.” 

“You will never know their relationship,” Lexa sighed, sharing something from her plate to Clarke’s that she took and enjoyed, neither focusing much on the act itself. “You can only know yourself. I’m of the belief that Love is hard work, and it’s instantaneous and uncontrollable.” 

“I’d be interested to hear you try to school my father on love,” Clarke decided, earning a smile. 

“The only things I’m going to tell your father are ‘yes sir,’ ‘home by ten sir,’ ‘thank you sir’ and nothing else.” 

“Oh, you get nervous around parents?” she teased. 

“I’ve never met any parents,” Lexa shrugged. “I’m only going off of everything I’ve seen on tv shows and movies.” 

“Well that should be interesting to watch.” 

“Be nice. I’m doing my best.”

“Fine,” Clrke shook her head as the waiter came back again and cleaned off the table. “But I will use anything I can to make you flustered.” 

“I don’t get flustered.” 

“We’ll see.” 

XXXXXXXXXXX

“I’d say it was a fairly successful date,” Clarke nodded in the dark. Beside her, Lexa draped her arm along her waist and ran her fingers along the hairs of her lower back. Clarke pushed her hips closer. 

“We should probably have more of them,” Lexa decided. 

Even though it was dark, she felt Clarke’s smile, felt her relax and melt against her touch. 

“After, and only if, you win the Trifecta. I don’t want to date a loser.” 

“Consider it done.” 

“What about me?” she whispered. “What do you think I should do?” 

“After, and only if, you agree to open up to the possibility that I might have been right. That it only takes one conversation.” 

“Never.” 

The grip tightened on her hip, and Clarke felt Lexa’s body flush against her own. She liked the sinewy shape of it, the strength of the muscles and bones, the languid weight to the limbs that interacted with her own. 

“Then you have to win the Trifecta,” Lexa shrugged.

“How hard could it be?” 

Clarke let out a yelp as Lexa tickled her and softened against her chest. Whatever it was, and however many conversations it took, Clarke was having a good time.


End file.
